<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Whichwolf? by Kirrex</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27252877">Whichwolf?</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kirrex/pseuds/Kirrex'>Kirrex</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Teen Wolf (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Established Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Poignant, Possessive Derek, Possessive Stiles Stilinski, Snark, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski is a Little Shit, True Love</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 00:34:12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,813</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27252877</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kirrex/pseuds/Kirrex</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek is a wolf of many moods. Which one is it today? Stiles knows how to handle them all.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>439</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Sadwolf</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Thanks for reading! Likes, feedback always appreciated.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>On the anniversary of the fire, Stiles finds Derek kneeling in front of the blackened ruins, tears streaming down his face. Stiles lowers himself to the ground behind him, arms encircling Derek’s shaking form and head pressed against his back. They stay like that, unspeaking, until Stiles finally says, “C’mon, Sourwolf. Let’s go home.” He helps Derek to his feet and they walk off hand in tightly gripped hand.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Deadlywolf</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Despite their initial encounter in the preserve, Stiles has never been afraid of Derek, who he knows would sooner eat mud than hurt him. And while he’s seen Derek fighting viciously in all his wolfed-out glory, he’s never thought of him as cold-blooded—until the day Derek eviscerates a witch planning to ritually sacrifice Stiles after tying him to the Nemeton. Derek’s savagery as he’s ripping her apart is something to behold, and Stiles realizes what it says about the depths of Derek’s feelings for him. “Thanks for finding me,” he says quietly. Derek looks him deep in the eyes and replies, “I will <em>always</em> find you Stiles.”</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Sillywolf</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Derek has a playful side not many people get to see. Stiles finds it delightful and encourages it every chance he gets. One scorching afternoon he’s attempting some half-hearted weeding, an occasional swipe across his brow to clear the sweat pooling there, when a sudden blast of icy water strikes the back of his neck. He shrieks like a banshee and leaps up, arms askew. Turning to find the source of the attack, another heavy spray strikes his cheek and he sees Derek standing there with a massive water gun and a giant shit-eating grin. Stiles jumps onto his boyfriend, momentum propelling them both to the ground, and vows bloody revenge while kissing him silly.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Lazywolf</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Every now and then Derek spends the day just lying around. His favorite spot is a large cushion on the patio where he can soak up the rays for hours. Stiles knows Derek needs this sometimes and brings out water and the occasional snack but otherwise lets him be. One such day, as the sun is edging back over the horizon, Stiles drops into a chair beside him. He runs his fingers through Derek’s rough coat and asks, “Ready to change back?” The wolf lets out an enormous yawn, takes a last lap from his water bowl, and pads into the kitchen. “Guess not,” says Stiles.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Smugwolf</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Who's the winner now?</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Derek wins twelve games of Skee-Ball to Stiles’ two, much to his delight and Stiles’ chagrin. Gloating, he drapes his arm over Stiles’ shoulders and says condescendingly, “not everyone can be the Skee-Ball King, Stiles. You just have to find what <em>you’re</em> good at.” An hour and fifteen games later, Stiles crows as he sends the puck sailing into Derek’s slot for yet another epic win. “You were right, 'King,'” he says, fist raised in victory. "We all <em>do</em> have our forte. And mine is Emperor of Air Hockey!” Derek slinks away to buy another round of tokens.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Jealouswolf</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Derek defends his territory</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Derek scowls when the librarian tries to elicit Stiles’ number under the guise of texting him alerts, and hovers menacingly until the man slinks away. Stiles smirks at the cowardly retreat, and satisfaction blooms in Derek’s chest as he jeers internally.</p><p>He glares as the waitress shoves her outsized tits practically under Stiles’ nose as she reaches for the menus. Derek, normally a generous tipper, leaves her just twelve percent. Of the pretax total.</p><p>Out jogging, Derek stops to chug some water while Stiles plows on. Several teenage girls giggling on a bench eye Stiles’ rounded globes as he sails past and whisper about getting their hands on "that booty." Teeth clenched, Derek squeezes his bottle till jets of liquid shoot out and leave them dripping.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Comfortwolf</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Stiles relives some memories</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Stiles, I’m home,” Derek says as he walks in the door carrying a bag filled with cartons. “Where are you? I got Indian.” Stiles is on a curry kick and they’ve been eating it at least three times a week—so much that Derek swears it's emanating from his pores. “In the den,” Stiles calls out, but his voice is oddly subdued. Derek leaves the bag on the counter and heads to the den, where he finds Stiles cross-legged in front of a carboard box, holding a framed photo. Derek can tell by his blotchy face that Stiles has been crying. Derek drops down next to him and asks gently, “What’s all this?” “Dad was cleaning out the attic,” Stiles replies, “and found a box of my mom’s stuff.” He hands Derek the photo. It's of a young Noah and Claudia posed with baby Stiles, whose huge whiskey eyes stare curiously into the camera lens. “You look the same,” Derek says with a smile, "like you're plotting something." “My mom used to call me Mischief,” admits Stiles. His voice drops to a whisper. “I miss her so much.” Derek puts his arms around Stiles and nuzzles his neck. “I know you do,” he says, “I know.” They sit like that until Stiles eventually asks, “Did you say you got Indian?” “Yeah,” Derek replies. “Let’s go eat.” On the way to the kitchen Stiles slips his hand into Derek’s, twining their fingers together. “Thanks,” he says. Derek knows he’s not talking about the food.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Hangrywolf</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Feeding the beast</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Derek is feeling <em>mean</em>. He bursts into the apartment and hurls his leather jacket onto a chair while slamming his backpack against the floor. He stomps down the hall, flinging open doors with a noisy bang, and tears into the kitchen ready to rumble. There he finds Stiles serenely holding a handful of cherries. Before Derek can start ranting, Stiles shoves a cherry into Derek's mouth, followed by another and then a third. Derek’s rage begins to subside as the food registers in his brain. “Sorry,” he says sheepishly, still chewing, “I forgot my lunch.” "I noticed," Stiles replies, holding up a wrinkled paper sack, “I figured the beast would need quelling." Then he pulls out a freshly cooked steak smothered in onions from the oven, and Derek wonders for the millionth time how he got so damn lucky.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Takenwolf</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Derek might as well wear a sign that says "Property of S. Stilinski"</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Derek and Stiles are at The Baying Wolf grabbing a drink. Stiles heads to the restroom while Derek orders a Sex Under the Moon for himself and a Sweet &amp; Sour 69 for Stiles. Emerging, Stiles is greeted by the sight of an attractive wolf cozying up to Derek, suggestively sucking a cocktail cherry. Stiles sees her slide a hand across the seat of Derek’s jeans and give his ass a firm squeeze. Before Derek can rebuff her, Stiles marches over with a death glare plastered on his face. With a pointed look he shoves in between them, cups Derek’s face in his hands, and gives him the filthiest kiss ever—which Derek returns enthusiastically. When they finally break apart, she’s wearing a disgruntled expression. A gloating Stiles says, “Keep your paws to yourself, lady. This is <em>my</em> wolf. Go get your own!” She lets out a faint growl but takes the hint and goes in search of more available prey. “You’re all mine, Sourwolf,” Stiles says firmly to Derek, “and don’t you ever forget it.” Derek just rolls his eyes to say “as if.”</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Cheesywolf</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Derek goes retro.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Hey, hey mama said the way you move, gon’ make you sweat, gon’ make you groove…”</p><p>“Stiles! Can you stop that yowling? I’m on the phone.”</p><p>“Sacrilege! It’s Led Zeppelin, dude, you can’t stop in the middle of <em>Black Dog</em>.”</p><p>“Hold on a sec, Cora… It’s only the first line, you can start over in a few minutes.”</p><p>“Fine, but see what happens next time you listen to Barry Manilow.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“Stiles! Why are you throwing out my shirt?</p><p>“I’m not throwing it out, I’m donating it.”</p><p>“Why? I love that shirt.”</p><p>“It’s neon, Derek.”</p><p>“So?”</p><p>“It’s also two sizes too big.”</p><p>“It’s comfy.”</p><p>“It’s like the eighties spit it out four decades into the future.”</p><p>“If <em>it</em> goes you have to get rid of your Stud Muffin T-shirt.”</p><p>“Ugh, you can keep your damn neon monstrosity. As long as you never, ever, wear it in public.”</p><p>“Says the paragon of fashion, Mr. ‘clad in plaid.’”</p><p>[Silence] “Maybe we should go shopping.”</p><p>“How about Saturday?”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“Derek, what the hell are you <em>doing</em>?”</p><p>“The moonwalk.”</p><p>“What the fu… hey, you’re actually not that bad.”</p><p>“No duh.”</p><p>“No <em>duh?</em>”</p><p>“Take a chill pill, Stiles.”</p><p>“You took one of those online quizzes again, didn’t you?”</p><p>“I got 1980s.”</p><p>“I’m speechless.”</p><p>“<em>That’s</em> a first!”</p><p>“Eat me.”</p><p>“Later. Billie Jean is not my loverrrrr…”</p><p>[Sigh] “Oh well, if you can’t beat 'em… Now how do you get your foot to slide back like that?”</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Gringowolf</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Derek has a new hobby; Stiles isn't so sure.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Derek has recently taken up Spanish. Stiles has no idea why (“it’s <em>useful,</em> Stiles”), but he rolls with it, sometime even helping Derek memorize flashcards. After several months of lessons, it’s evident that Spanish is not Derek's strong point. He manages to learn some vocabulary but constantly mixes up the words, and his rolled Rs sound like a hairball-coughing cat. Stiles subtly tries to steer him toward a different hobby, but Derek remains undeterred. “I’m not interested in cake decorating, Stiles,” he says, “or yoga.” Dammit! thinks Stiles. What he’d give to see Derek in those clingy pants.</p><p>A point comes when Derek feels he’s made enough progress to take his newfound skill for a test drive. Stiles has his doubts but keeps them to himself. One morning they pay a visit to the Hispanic market downtown so Derek can buy ingredients for octopus ceviche lettuce wraps. He steps up to the counter and says confidently, “Estoy pensando en coser envolturas de lechuza con ceviche de pulpa. "Es mejor usar cebolla picada o ajo?”</p><p>The man looks at him strangely while Stiles punches Derek’s words into an online translator—then breaks out in hysterics. “You just said you’re planning on sewing pulp ceviche owl wraps,” he chokes out. Derek’s face turns scarlet and he mutters an apology before fleeing the store. Stiles turns to the shopkeeper and says, “Sorry about that. My friend’s trying to learn Spanish, but he’s very, very bad at it.” The man nods his head vigorously and replies in perfect English, “Maybe he should take up woodworking.” Stiles cackles again and leaves.</p><p>He catches up with Derek outside the shop, who turns to him and says, “When does that cake decorating class start?”</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I made liberal use of Babelfish in the creation of this chapter. Please forgive—or feel free to correct—any translation errors.</p><p>What Derek's trying to ask: "I'm thinking about cooking lettuce wraps [filled with] with octopus ceviche. Is it better to use chopped onions or garlic?"</p><p>What he actually asks: "I'm thinking about sewing owl wraps with pulp ceviche. Is it better to use chopped onions or garlic?"</p><p>cocinar/coser = to cook/to sew<br/>lechuga/lechuza = lettuce/owl<br/>pulpo/pulpa = octopus/pulp</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Cookingwolf</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sometimes it's the intention, not the execution.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Stiles comes home one night just in time to witness a messily decorated three-tiered cake topple onto its side. “Happy birthday?” Derek says weakly. “I see that cake decorating class really paid off,” Stiles answers snidely—before giving Derek a gigantic thank-you smooch.</p><p>Derek’s had a long day and is frantic to get home. He pulls open the front door, and an unpleasant odor of burnt…<em>something</em>…assails his senses. He finds Stiles in the kitchen holding a spatula and staring woefully at a charred, smoking mess in front of him. “I wanted to make you dinner,” he wails. Derek pulls him into a comforting squeeze. “It's the thought that counts," he says with conviction, then suggests "Delivery?” Stiles nods his head vigorously. They look at each other and say “Italian” at the exact same time.</p><p>Later, bellies stuffed with their favorite comfort food, Stiles turns to Derek. “If we had a cooking show,” he says, “it would be called <em>Two Idiots in the Kitchen</em>.” Smirking, Derek replies, “Want to go be two idiots in the bedroom instead?”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Heartwolf</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Can Derek find the perfect gift?</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Valentine’s Day is approaching and Derek wants to do something special this year. He’s wracking his brain for ideas but discards each one—until he hits on something that just might do.</p><p>They’re waiting for dessert after a romantic dinner when Derek pulls out a gift bag and hands it to Stiles, who’s already making grabby hands. He dives in and extracts a series of envelopes he immediately starts tearing open. The first contains a selfie of the two of them snuggling on top of a Ferris wheel. Seeing it, Stiles makes a gooey face and leans over to give Derek a peck. The next holds a gift certificate to the new Polish restaurant, Psoty, they’ve been dying to try. The third is a reservation for a couples massage, something Stiles is always pestering Derek about. Two tickets to Comic-Con slide out of the fourth envelope, and Stiles gives a little shriek as he clutches them to his heart. "Dude!" he says, "How'd you even get these?" Derek has his ways and shrugs his shoulders mysteriously; Stiles raises an eyebrow but lets it go. The final envelope is a simple card with a heart outline on the front. Stiles reads its contents, then throws his arms around Derek and says, “I know you do, Sourwolf. I love you too.”</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Moviewolf</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I *really* wanted Stiles to make fun of Derek for getting Raisinets, but it just didn't work.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>“Okay, so what do we have?”</p><p>“Skittles, Twizzlers, your M&amp;Ms, my Raisinets, and the popcorn. And our drinks.”</p><p>“Damn, we forgot the Whoppers.”</p><p>“Stiles, there is <em>no way in hell</em> I’m getting back in that line.”</p><p>“You don’t understand the fine art of moviegoing; snacks need to last till the end.”</p><p>“And you don’t understand the fine art of my inability to deal with jabbering idiots.”</p><p>“Point.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>“I have to pee.”</p><p>“Why didn’t you go <em>before</em> we bought out the refreshment stand??”</p><p>“I got so distracted by all that glorious movie food, I forgot. It'll only take a minute.”</p><p>“Fine, but if I drop your soda, I’m not buying you a new one.”</p><p>“No worries, Der-Ber, I’ll just drink yours.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>“Where should we sit?”</p><p>“In the back because you’re going to talk my ear off the whole time and I don’t want everyone telling us to shut up.”</p><p>“You wound me, D. I can watch a movie without talking.”</p><p>“Sure, Stiles. And the moon is made of curly fries.”</p><p>“Hah hah. Just you wait, I won’t say a word the entire time.”</p><p>“Praise the Moon Goddess.”</p><p>“I hate you, Sourwolf.”</p><p>“Uh huh.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>“Can you move over one?”</p><p>“Are you kidding? I just got all the food settled.”</p><p>“Yeah, but that guy with the big head is blocking my view.”</p><p>“Fine. But I’m not moving again.”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah. Quit pouting or you’ll get ridges.”</p><p>“Why do I put up with you?”</p><p>“Because I’m the awesomest person you know and you wuuuuv me.”</p><p>“It’s because nobody else will and I feel guilty.”</p><p>“Bite me, Sourwolf.”<br/>
<br/>
“Not in public, dear.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>“Can you pass the M&amp;Ms?”</p><p>“<em>What?</em> You’re already eating Twizzlers and Skittles.”</p><p>“Yeah, but it’s all about creating a flavor profile: M&amp;Ms for the chocolate, Twizzlers for the strawberry, and Skittles for the sour.”</p><p>“That’s disgusting, Stiles.”</p><p>“Says the man who eats bunnies.”</p><p>“That was <em>one time, </em>and it’s what wolves <em>do</em>.”</p><p>“Yeah, and I’m a Stiles, and that’s what <em>I</em> do.”</p><p>“Fine, but I’m not kissing you until you brush your teeth.”</p><p>“Whatever. Can you pass the M&amp;Ms?”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>“I need another soda.”</p><p>“Are you kidding? You already had yours <em>and</em> two-thirds of mine.”</p><p>“I told you already: snacks and drinks have to last the whole movie.”</p><p>“I’m gonna kill you, Stiles.”</p><p>“Yeah, okay, but wait till it’s over so we don’t waste the rest of the food.”</p><p>“Fine. But get me one too.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>“Is that your hand in my lap?</p><p>“Who, me? Nope, not my hand. See? Two hands right here, waving in the air like I just don’t care.”</p><p>“What have I said about groping me in the movie theater?”</p><p>“To do it every chance I get?”</p><p>“No, I said don’t start something we can’t finish until later.”</p><p>“That’s why we’re in the back row, Sourwolf. It’s what it’s <em>for</em>.”</p><p>“Quit pulling on my zip…oh my god…you’re gonna kill me, Stiles.”</p><p>“Yeah, but at least I’ll have fun doing it.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>“Get up, I have to pee.”</p><p>“<em>Again? </em>There’s only fifteen minutes left.”</p><p>“I drank almost four sodas. You try holding in all that liquid. Unless you want me to go on the floor.”</p><p>“This is the last time I go to the movies with you.”</p><p>“Empty threat, dude, empty threat.”</p><p>“Grrrr.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>“Hey Sourwolf?</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“What was the movie about?”</p><p>“I have absolutely no idea.”</p><p>“Me neither.“</p><p>“Oh, well."</p><p>“Yep.”</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Stileswolf</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Derek appreciates Stiles' lupine qualities.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sometimes Derek forgets that Stiles isn’t a wolf. He’s not sure if it's innate or picked up through his long association with werewolves, but he’s surprised by how many of their qualities Stiles displays. For example, he can usually tell when people are lying, especially Derek himself. He’ll stare, eyes narrowed, and say, “Want to try that again?” Given the number of injuries he’s sustained over the years, Stiles has an impressive ability to heal—so much so that Derek wonders if he's picked up some of Derek's own regenerative abilities by osmosis. He’s incredibly tactile and likes nothing more than to perch on Derek’s lap with arms wrapped around him like an octopus. “Don’t even <em>think</em> about moving, Sourwolf,” he’ll say. “This is my forever home.” With other pack members, he’ll cuddle up next to them or scent their necks in passing. Once Derek even saw him goose Jackson, who jumped about a foot in the air, scowled and said “knock it off, Stilinksi,” but secretly looked pleased. Stiles loves to join them for full moon runs and has been known to howl his own wavering tribute alongside theirs. He's a formidable opponent, thanks in part to his ability to absorb and assimilate large swathes of information and make connections others miss. He's also a great tactician, and ruthless with his wolfbane-covered bat. He’s even gained a reputation among the supernatural community: “Watch out for the human,” they whisper to each other, "he's the deadliest of them all." But what Derek appreciates most about Stiles is his unwavering loyalty to family and pack. He’s fiercely protective of those he loves and will be the first to dive in at any hint of danger. He also has an unerring ability to offer comfort and support where needed. Yep, Derek thinks to himself, even though he may be human, Stiles is definitely a wolf.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Scarywolf</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Stiles has a terrifying encounter… Derek is the answer.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Stiles has just gotten home from spending the day painting his dad’s living room and he’s ready to unwind. He calls for a pizza and fires up his laptop, then heads to the bedroom to change out of his paint-stained clothing. He opens the door and immediately lets out a deafening screech: standing before him is a hideous green humanoid, large webbed hands raised menacingly.</p><p>Heart racing, Stiles backs away and goes to grab the baseball bat he keeps by the front door. He hears a shuffling sound behind him and imagines all kinds of terrifying scenarios. He turns around, bat raised. As he’s about to take a swing, he hears, “Stiles, wait.” Huh? The monster knows his name? He pauses curiously as the creature pulls at its head. Its loathsome features distort, and the mask slides off to reveal Derek’s familiar face beneath. “Oh my god,” breathes Stiles in relief. “You scared the crap out of me!” Then the anger sinks in. “Dude, what the hell! Why are you dressed as the Creature from the Black Lagoon?” “Sorry,” Derek replies contritely, “I didn’t know you were home. I was trying on my costume for Erica’s Halloween party. What do you think?”</p><p>Adrenaline still high, Stiles replies waspily, “Oh I don’t know, why don’t you just wear your resting bitch face? That’s scary enough.” Derek merely raises an eyebrow. “I love you too, honeybunch,” he responds. “By the way, I got you a costume while I was at it,” and reaches for a furry Chewbacca suit complete with bandolier. “You got me Chewie??” Stiles is thrilled. “You’re the best, Sourwolf!” he says, anger forgotten. Then he gives Derek a long, lascivious look. “Wow, who knew," he says, "that having my life threatened by a hulking brute would be a major turn on!” and he pulls Derek back to the bedroom, peeling his splotchy shirt off along the way. If that's the case, Derek thinks to himself, next time I’ll go for King Kong.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Doubtingwolf</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>When in doubt, talk it out.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Derek’s not a wolf who tolerates uncertainty well, and Stiles has been acting surreptitious for a while. Derek’s not really worried, because he knows Stiles loves him, but there’s always a little part of him that believes he doesn’t deserve good things and that everything will come crashing down like Humpty Dumpty, leaving him shattered. So he’s disconcerted when he comes home just in time to overhear the tail end of a phone call. “When can we meet?… 3 p.m. Where?… Yeah, okay. That works.” Stiles hasn’t mentioned a meetup, but rather than confront him, Derek morphs into his wolf form and hides under the bed until he hears the front door bang. He spends the afternoon reliving his fears: Stiles leaving him, telling him that he’s a failwolf, that he destroys everyone he cares about and deserves to be alone. Eventually Derek realizes he’s spinning in circles and needs to just ask Stiles about it.</p><p>When Stiles finally comes home, Derek steels his resolve. “I need to ask you something,” he begins. “Of course, Sourwolf,” Stiles interrupts, “but first, look at this!” He gestures toward the bookshelf, where an exquisite jet sculpture of Derek’s wolf sits on a shelf, so precisely carved it could be real. The piece captures the wild essence of the wolf yet conveys a human glint in its eyes. Derek is stunned. “Do you like it?” Stiles asks uncertainly. “I had it commissioned.” “Stiles, I love it,” Derek whispers, “it’s amazing. <em>Thank you</em>.” “Oh thank god,” breathes Stiles, “I was worried there for a second.” Then he adds, "What did you want to ask me?" "Nothing," Derek replies, "nothing at all." And thinks to himself the next time he's consumed by doubt, he'll just picture the black wolf on the shelf.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Grumpywolf</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Derek has a 'tude; Stiles tries to figure out why.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Dude, what crawled up your butt and nested there?”</p><p>“Nothing, Stiles. Let it go.”</p><p>“Not happening D when you’re pouting like a cranky toddler. What gives?”</p><p>“I said drop it. Please.”</p><p>“Der, this is me, Stiles. You know, your favorite boo, with the persistence of a Black Friday bargain hunter. So tell me what’s wrong.”</p><p>“You’re my only boo, Stiles.”</p><p>“Of c<em>ourse</em> I’m your only boo. You’re <em>my</em> only boo. We've established that. What <em>hasn’t</em> been established is what’s making your little wolfie heart howl the blues.”</p><p>Derek sighs and mumbles something under his breath.</p><p>“Wanna run that by me again? Since I’m not lucky enough to have your superhuman hearing and all.”</p><p>“I <em>said</em>, I wish you weren’t hanging out with Scott today. I thought we could hit the arcade, grab some dinner, and catch <em>The Rise of Batman: Liftoff</em>.”</p><p>“Pshhh, Sillywolf, is <em>that </em>all? Scott just wanted help building a chicken coop; we can do that anytime. I’m all yours, baby.”</p><p>Pause.</p><p>“Did you really ask what was <em>nesting up my butt</em>??”</p><p>Stiles just wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Lyingwolf</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>What is Derek hiding?</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Stiles has prevarication down to an art form, thanks to the living lie detectors he associates with. He’s also gotten pretty good at <em>spotting</em> untruths, especially when it comes to a certain Sourwolf, who really should know better. One Saturday afternoon, after helping Scott build his chicken coop, Stiles comes home carrying a bag of Chinese takeout, Derek’s favorite. “What did you do today?” he asks, dumping the cartons onto the counter. “Not much,” replies Derek, “some reading, called Cora…the usual.” Derek's usually more forthcoming, and Stiles' Spidey senses start tingling; he knows it’s what you don't say as much as what you do. Thinking for a moment about possible explanations, he settles on the most likely one.</p><p>“What did you do for lunch?” he asks. “Went out,” replies Derek and, anticipating Stiles’ next question, adds “to Le Loup.” “By yourself?” asks Stiles, because he knows dining solo isn’t Derek’s thing. “No,” Derek reluctantly admits, “with the Sheriff.” And there it is. “Let me guess,” says Stiles dryly, “you both had the steak with an extra side of mashed potatoes.” “Yes,” says Derek, and adds defensively, “I tried to talk him out of it, but you know how he is.” Stiles does know, but he also knows Derek can be an enabler. He reflects for a moment. “Well, Sourwolf,” he says eventually, “you must still be full from such a hearty lunch. I’ll just eat <em>this</em>,” he points to the food on the counter, “by myself.”</p><p>Stiles isn’t tyrannical about many things, but his father’s diet is one of them, and Derek knows better than to argue. He thinks sadly about the moo shu and dumplings he’s missing out on, and the day-old veggie casserole awaiting him in the fridge. Next time the Sheriff invites him to lunch, he’ll stipulate they go to the vegan restaurant. Which, unfortunately, they both detest—but tempeh and brown rice are a lot better than being on Stiles’ shit list.</p><p>Meanwhile, Stiles smirks as he spoons a hefty portion of fried rice onto his plate. Message delivered, he thinks to himself.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Protectedwolf</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Don't mess with Derek or you'll have to deal with Stiles.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A wolf from a neighboring pack has been hitting on Derek. Whenever they bump into each other—which happens suspiciously often—he licks his lips lewdly and makes suggestive comments, despite Derek’s obvious discomfort. Derek hasn’t mentioned it to Stiles, figuring that sooner or later the guy will get the message and back off. Meanwhile, he’ll suffer through the unwanted advances. Except Stiles witnesses it happen and all hell breaks loose. </p><p>Pausing for a moment to tie his sneaker as they’re out running errands, Stiles looks up just in time to see a large wolf he vaguely recognizes slide up behind Derek and reach around to give his crotch a firm squeeze. Derek jumps about a foot in the air as he whips his head around in shock. Stiles knows how unwanted attention makes Derek feel, never mind the bad kind of touch, and goes <em>ballistic</em>.<strike></strike></p><p>Leaping up, Stiles grabs the wolf around the neck and puts him in a chokehold. “What the fuck is your problem, <em>asshole</em>?” he snarls. “You think you can just go around grabbing people’s junk?” The guy tries to break free, but Stiles doesn’t give an inch. “Come near him again,” he continues, “and I’ll have you arrested.” Stiles loosens his grip slightly, enough so the wolf can gasp out, “And <em>I’ll</em> say you attacked me out of the blue.” Stiles laughs in his face. “My dad’s the sheriff,” he says, “so good luck with that. Who do <em>you</em> think he’ll believe?” Derek is standing there watching the interchange; he knows better than to interfere when Stiles is tearing someone a new one.</p><p>The guy’s canines start to lengthen, but Stiles just rolls his eyes. “Whatever,” the guy spits out, “you can have him. He’s not that hot anyway.” Nobody insults Derek on Stiles’ watch. “Or I could deal with you myself,” he responds, teeth clenched, “and make you disappear.” He pauses to let that sink in. His heartbeat’s steady, so everyone present know he’s telling the truth, and Derek can smell the fear wafting off the guy. “But I won’t,” Stiles continues, “<em>if</em> you apologize to Derek.” Looking like he's about to wet his pants, the guy tells Derek he’s sorry for groping him (which isn’t really enough, but Stiles lets it go). Derek accepts the apology with a brief, unsmiling nod.</p><p>After he’s gone, Stiles turns to Derek and says contritely, “Sorry, Sourwolf, I should have let you handle that douche yourself.” Derek raises an eyebrow. “And miss you coming to my defense like a Spark in shining armor? Never!” Stiles can come to Derek’s rescue anytime as far as Derek’s concerned. He’s proud to have such a badass partner and lives for that “<em>oh shit!</em>” moment on someone’s face when they realize challenging him is sheer lunacy.</p><p>As they continue down the street, Stiles points to an adorable puppy tied to a parking meter and lets out a squeal. Yep, thinks Derek to himself, that’s my boy. Murderous intent one moment, slave to baby animal cuteness the next. He wouldn’t have him any other way.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. Textingwolf</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p><strong>Sparkplug:</strong> yo big daddy d. wat up</p><p><strong>HottieWolf:</strong> Big Daddy D? Seriously?</p><p><strong>Sparkplug:</strong> if the rubr fits… where u want 2 eat 2nite</p><p><strong>HottieWolf:</strong> Could you PLEASE text in English, Stiles?</p><p><strong>Sparkplug:</strong> ths is modrn engl get w/ the progrm</p><p><strong>HottieWolf: </strong>I KNOW you know how.</p><p><strong>Sparkplug:</strong> yru so worked up bdd chillout</p><p><strong>HottieWolf</strong>: Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrr</p><p><strong>Sparkplug:</strong> rowr</p><p><strong>HottieWolf:</strong> STILES! Text like a normal person or we’re not eating out tonight.</p><p><strong>Sparkplug:</strong> You’re no fun Sourwolf</p><p><strong>HottieWolf:</strong> Cry me a river. Where do *you* want to eat?</p><p><strong>Sparkplug:</strong> Curly fries</p><p><strong>HottieWolf:</strong> Again?? We’ve been to the diner three times this week.</p><p><strong>Sparkplug:</strong> D man, we both know there is no such thing as too many curly fries</p><p><strong>HottieWolf:</strong> Fine, if you want to clog your arteries and have a cardio arrest, be my guest.</p><p><strong>Sparkplug:</strong> Hey, you busted a rhyme!</p><p><strong>HottieWolf: </strong>And *that's* why I'm called Big Daddy D.</p><p><strong>Sparkplug:</strong> Actually it’s more of a descriptive term</p><p><strong>HottieWolf:</strong> Stiles! Can we just plan a time to meet up?</p><p><strong>Sparkplug: </strong>Sure thing DADDY</p><p><strong>Sparkplug: </strong>Are you going to punish me for being a bad boy?</p><p><strong>Sparkplug: </strong>Der??????</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0022"><h2>22. Sleepingwolf</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>This chapter is pure silliness.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Oooof! Derek wakes up with a gasp as Stiles’ leg slams into his stomach. “Mbbbmbb,” Stiles mumbles, “don’t let the flying meatballs crush the tulips." He pauses momentarily and then shrieks "DUCK!” Derek tries to regain his breath and still his rapidly beating heart. “Wake up,” he says, giving Stiles’ shoulder a push, “you’re dreaming.” Eyes glazed over, Stiles sits straight up, points his finger at Derek, and cries, “Get thee hence, foul hippogriff!” then falls back down again in a sound sleep. Derek turns over to spoon Stiles’ lanky body and gets an elbow to the solar plexus for his efforts. “Fuuuuuuck, Stiles,” he groans, “<em>you’re</em> the goddamned hippogriff!”</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0023"><h2>23. NSFWwolf</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Looking over Stiles’ shoulder, Derek catches him perusing werewolf porn online. “Not safe for work, Stiles,” he sings out, just to be annoying. “Shut it, Sourwolf,” says Stiles, “you know you wish you had a big ol’ knot.” “I’m <em>plenty</em> big enough without one,” Derek retorts. Stiles agrees but doesn’t want to admit it and deigns to respond. Derek smirks knowingly.</p><p>Derek is vacuuming the living room in tight black boxer briefs, boasting a noticeable bulge. He’s blasting Rihanna and busting a twerk every now and then when Stiles sneaks in to give his hockey player-sized butt a firm squeeze. “Definitely not safe for work, dude,” he taunts. Derek flips him the bird and turns up the volume.</p><p>Stiles has been taking a deep dive into the Rolling Stones. Through his internet trawls, he’s found a never-released song called Schoolboy Blues and decides to give it a listen. He’s totally unprepared to hear a young Mick Jagger sing about a raw encounter with a policeman in Leicester Square. Derek wanders by and gives a low whistle at the explicit content. “<em>Right?</em>” says Stiles. “So, so, SO not safe for work.” Derek agrees wholeheartedly.</p><p>Derek is half under the kitchen sink fixing a leak. He’s wearing old sweatpants that have a giant hole on one cheek revealing his commando state. Stiles comes in to get a drink and almost chokes on his first swallow at the unexpected sight. Do or not do, he thinks to himself and gives Derek’s booty a resounding slap. “That view is not<em> at all</em> safe for work, Derek!” he pronounces loudly. Muffled cursing is the only reply he gets.</p><p>Stiles comes home to find Derek taking a shower and decides to join him. Stripping down, he steps into the steamy enclosure and drapes his body over Derek’s. “Hey D,” he asks. “Is this safe for work? Or <em>this</em>?” Derek responds by giving him the finger. Literally.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0024"><h2>24. StilesIsMineWolf</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Derek stakes his claim.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>One night they visit a supernatural pub so Derek can try some of the new wolfbane-infused brew he keeps hearing about. Stiles makes a beeline for the bar, but Derek stops for a second to greet a beta he knows. Pleasantries over, he looks around to see Stiles chatting animatedly with the bartender while a she-wolf with long auburn hair and a skintight leather skirt slides into the empty seat beside him. He can smell the lust wafting off her as she “accidentally” dumps her drink into Stiles’ lap. Clutching a handful of napkins, she swipes at the damp patch while apologizing profusely. Stiles shoves her hand away forcefully and says, “Back off, lady, I’m taken.” “Whoever she is," the woman purrs, "I’m better,” and continues to dab at his crotch.</p><p>Derek’s heard enough, but before he can intervene he hears Stiles say, “Whoever <em>he</em> is. And <em>he’s</em> a thousand times hotter than the sun—in every way—so no, no you’re not.” Derek preens; she remains undeterred, laying a suggestive hand on Stiles' thigh. “C’mon cutie, let’s take this somewhere more…<em>intimate</em>.” Stepping up behind her, Derek clears his throat. “If you don’t get your claws off him <em>right this second</em>,” he growls, “I’ll rip them out one by one. And <em>then</em> I’ll tear out your throat.” Eyes widening at the very pissed-off alpha confronting her, she backs away. “No harm,” she says, “we were just chatting.” Derek continues to glare until she grabs her purse and practically sprints out the door. “Good riddance,” he says, turning back to Stiles, who’s eyeing him hungrily. “I love it when you get all possessive and growly,” Stiles says. “Home. Now.” As he gets dragged to the car, Derek hears Stiles mutter “…than the <em>sun!</em>”</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0025"><h2>25. Joyfulwolf</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Derek has a surprise for Stiles.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Stiles is riding shotgun in the Camaro while sneaking periodic looks at Derek. Derek is, for want of a better word, <em>happy</em>. Now Derek is many things, some of them even awesome, but he never exudes this kind of exuberance, bouncing in his seat, cracking silly jokes, and whistling along to the music. As they speed down the highway, Stiles messages Lydia surreptitiously asking her to check the bestiary for signs of demonic possession.</p><p>Derek turns onto a winding road ending in a quaint cottage overlooking the ocean. “Wow,” Stiles says. “What’s this?” “Family getaway,” Derek replies, “for when someone needed space.” Derek unlocks the door, and Stiles steps in to survey the rustic interior. “Cozy,” he says. “Me likey.”</p><p>After cooking dinner they settle in front of the fireplace, glasses of wine in hand. Derek pulls a small box from under a cushion and flips the lid to reveal a brushed platinum band. Bending down in the classic pose, he looks up at Stiles and says earnestly, “We’ve been through a lot together, and there’s nobody I’d rather have at my back or by my side." He pauses to give weight to the words. "Will you marry me?” Stiles flings his arms around Derek and squeezes for all he's worth. Voice thick, he replies, “Yes, Sourwolf, of course I’ll marry you.”</p><p>Later Stiles shoots Lydia a text telling her not to bother searching the bestiary.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>